Death On The Nile - Christie Agatha. Страница 3

M. Blondin, however, was positively fulsome in his attentions.

Though clients had been told for the last half-hour that a table was not to be had, one now mysteriously appeared, placed in a most favourable position. M.

Blondin conducted the client to it with every appearance of empressement.

"But, naturally, for you there is always a table, M. Poirot! How I wish that you would honour us oftener." Hercule Poirot smiled, remembering that past incident wherein a dead body, a waiter, M. Blondin, and a very lovely lady had played a part.

"You are too amiable, M. Blondin," he said.

"And you are alone, M. Poirot?" "Yes, I am alone." "Oh, well, Jules here will compose for you a little meal that will be a poem-positively a poem! Women, however charming, have this disadvantage, they distract the mind from food! You will enjoy your dinner, M. Poirot, I promise you that. Now, as to wine--" A technical conversation ensued. Jules, the maitre d'htel, assisting.

Before departing, M. Blondin lingered a moment, lowering his voice confidentially.

"You have grave affairs on hand?" Poirot shook his head.

"I am, alas, a man of leisure," he said sadly. "I have made the economies in my time and I have now the means to enjoy a life of idleness." "I envy you." "No, no, you would be unwise to do so. I can assure you, it is not so gay as it sounds." He sighed. "How true is the saying that man was forced to invent work in order to escape the strain of having to think." M. Blondin threw up his hands.

"But there is so much! There is travel!" "Yes, there is travel. Already I have done not so badly. This winter I shall visit Egypt, I think. The climate, they say, is superbl One will escape from the fogs, the greyness, the monotony of the constantly falling rain." "Ah! Egypt," breathed M. Blondin.

"One can even voyage there now, I believe, by train, escaping all sea travel except the Channel." "Ah, the sea, it does not agree with you?" Hercule Poirot shook his head and shuddered slightly.

"I, too," said M. Blondin with sympathy. "Curious the effect it has upon the stomach." "But only upon certain stomachs! There are people on whom the motion makes no impression whatever. They actually enjoy it!" "An unfairness of the good God," said M. Blondin.

He shook his head sadly, and brooding on the impious thought, withdrew.

Smooth-footed, deft-handed waiters ministered to the table. Toast Melba, butter, an ice-pail, all the adjuncts to a meal of quality.

The negro orchestra broke into an ecstasy of strange discordant noise. London danced.

Hercule Poirot looked on, registering impressions in his neat orderly mind.

How bored and weary most of the faces were! Some of those stout men, however, were enjoying themselves… whereas a patient endurance seemed to be the sentiment exhibited on their partners' faces. The fat woman in purple was looking radiant… Undoubtedly the fat had certain compensations in life… a zest-a gustos-denied to those of more fashionable contours.

A good sprinkling of young peoplesome vacant looking-some bored-some definitely unhappy. How absurd to call youth the time of happiness-youth the time of greatest vulnerability!

His glance softened as it rested on one particular couple. A well-matched pair, tall broad-shouldered man, slender delicate girl. Two bodies that moved in a perfect rhythm of happiness. Happiness in the place, the hour, and in each other.

The dance stopped abruptly. Hands clapped and it started again. After a second encore the couple returned to their table close by Poirot.

The girl was flushed, laughing. As she sat, he could study her face as it was lifted laughing to her companion.

There was something else beside laughter in her eyes.

Hercule Poirot shook his head doubtfully.

"She cares too much, that little one," he said to himself. "It is not safe. No, it is not safe." And then a word caught his ear. Egypt.

Their voices came to him clearly-the girl's.young, fresh, arrogant with just a trace of soft-sounding foreign Rs, and the man's pleasant, low-toned, well-bred English.

"I'm not counting my chickens before they're hatched, Simon. I tell you Linnet won't let us down!" "I might let her down." "Nonsense it's just the right job for you." "As a matter of fact I think it is… I haven't really any doubts as to my capability. And I mean to make good for your sake!" The girl laughed softly, a laugh of pure happiness.

"We'll wait three months-to make sure you don't get the sack. And then-" "And then I'll endow thee with my worldly goods-that's the hang of it, isn't it?" "And as I say, we'll go to Egypt for our honeymoon. Damn the expense! I've always wanted to go to Egypt all my life. The Nile and the pyramids and the sand…" He said, his voice slightly indistinct: "We'll see it together, Jackie… together. Won't it be marvellous?" "I wonder. Will it be as marvellous to you as it is to me? Do you really care as much as I do?" Her voice was suddenly sharp-her eyes dilated-almost with fear.

The man's answer came with an equal sharpness: "Don't be absurd, Jackie." But the girl repeated: "I wonder…" Then she shrugged hr shoulders: "Let's dance." Hercule Poirot murmured to himself: "Un qui aime et un qui se laisse aimer. Yes, I wonder too." vii Joanna Southwood said:

"And suppose he's a terrible tough?"

Linnet shook her head.

"Oh, he won't be. I can trust Jacqueline's taste."

Joanna murmured:

"Ah, but people don't run true to form in love affairs."

Linnet shook her head impatiently. Then she changed the subject. "I must go and see Mr. Pierce about those plans." "Plans?"

"Yes, some dreadful insanitary old cottages. I'm having them pulled down and the people moved."

"How sanitary and public-spirited of you, darling."

"They'd have had to go anyway. Those cottages would have overlooked my new swimming pool."

"Do the people who live in them like going?"

"Most of them are delighted. One or two are being rather stupid about it-really tiresome, in fact. They don't seem to realise how vastly improved their living conditions will be!"

"But you're being quite high-handed about it, I presume." "My dear Joanna, it's to their advantage really." "Yes, dear, I'm sure it is. Compulsory benefit." Linnet frowned. Joanna laughed.

"Come now, you are a tyrant, admit it. A beneficent tyrant if you like!" "I'm not the least bit a tyrant." "But you like your own way!" "Not especially."

"Linnet Ridgeway, you can look me in the face and tell me of any one occasion on which you've failed to do exactly as you wanted?"

"Heaps of times."

"Oh, yes, 'heaps of times'-just like that-but no concrete example. And you simply can't think up one, darling, however hard you try! The triumphal progress of Linnet Ridgeway in her golden car." Linnet said sharply: "You think I'm selfish?"

"No-just irresistible. The combined effect of money and charm. Everything goes down before you what you can't buy with cash you buy with a smile. Result:

Linnet Ridgeway, the Girl Who Has Everything." "Don't be ridiculous, Joanna?

"Well, haven't you got everything?"

"I suppose I have… It sounds rather disgusting somehow!"

"Of course it's disgusting, darling! You'll probably get terribly bored and blas by and by. In the meantime enjoy the triumphal progress in the golden car. Only I wonder, I really do wonder, what will happen when you want to go down a street which has a board up saying No Thoroughfare.'

"Don't be idiotic, Joanna." As Lord Windlesham joined them Linnet said, turning to him. "Joanna is saying the nastiest things to me."

"All spite," said Joanna vaguely as she got up from her seat.

She made no apology for leaving them. She had caught the glint in Windlesham's eye.

He was silent for a minute or two. Then he went straight to the point.